


How to disappear completely

by pollencount



Category: Dragon Age, Dragon Age II
Genre: Gen, Implied or Off-stage Rape/Non-con, Mental Breakdown, Solitary, Triggers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-12
Updated: 2012-05-12
Packaged: 2017-11-05 05:42:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/403049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pollencount/pseuds/pollencount
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>a year in solitary confinement</p>
            </blockquote>





	How to disappear completely

**Author's Note:**

> not happy at all
> 
> PS: I may be looking for a beta reader.

**Day 1**

So, it seems the Knight-Commander ran out of ideas eventually. Not that he's been the most imaginative thus far, regarding punishment and such. He put me in solitary. Again. I wonder, how long it's going to be this time; a week, maybe two?

 

**Day 4**

I'm getting bored. They took my magic, which is hardly a surprise... after the little incident last time. So templars _are_ adaptive after all. Now, all I can do to occupy myself is think and wank... a lot.

 

**Day 7**

I asked the templars, how long they are planning to leave me in here, because, you know, after a while these robes begin to smell. It's not pleasant. They didn't answer. Actually, they haven't talked to me since my relocation to this lovely little room. Better start counting the days.

 

**Day 13**

It's my 13th day in solitary, or perhaps the 14th. It's hard to tell. Used the meals to keep track of time. But apparently they forgot a meal or two. Or maybe it's another form of punishment. I don't know.

 

**Day 15**

Lately that one templar always stays a bit longer after he brought me food. Standing just outside the door. I can feel him lurking.

**  
**

**Week 3**

That Templar. He watches me. I know it. I have to get out of here. I have to find a way. Maybe. The walls. There has to be a way. There has to be. It's getting harder to concentrate. I don't know, what day it is any more. If it's day or night. It's... I need to stay calm. I need to stay lucid. They can't... they won't break me! Not yet. Not like that. They will never get me! I can do this. I can make it through this. I've had worse.

 

**Week 4**

I... I can't.

**  
**

**Week 6**

I've started talking to myself. I know it must sound crazy. But. The silence. I can't bear it any longer. I need to hear a human voice... even if it's just my own. It calms me.

 

**Drakonis**

There is a crack in the floor, where I am sitting. I can feel it with the tip of my finger. I trace it all the way to the wall on my right, where it ends. The walls are rough and cold. Always cold. Sometimes I just put my hand there to feel all the subtle irregularities the stone provides. It's like it has a character of its own. Keeping me company. I've also made a bed out of my robe, since I can't wear it any more anyway. It's too torn. Too broken.

 

**Cloudreach**

Today the templar smelled of freshly cut grass. I wish he could have stayed. Just a little bit longer.

 

**Bloomingtide**

The room is so narrow. I. It's hard to breath. Even harder to concentrate. What if they forgot me in here? What if? What if they leave me in here forever? They can't do that, can they? They can't do that...

 

**Still Bloomingtide probably**

I got a visitor today. She had such beautiful breasts, bare and just the right size to fit in my hands. And she talked to me in that alluring voice. She was perfect. I wanted to touch her. Feel her skin beneath my fingers. Oh Maker, how I wanted her! Give in to her. But I couldn't understand her. Couldn't. Like... there was a heavy blanket, covering my senses. It's always there. Separating me from everything else. The templar. The walls. The colours and the voices. It's all dull and hazy.

 

**Solace**

There is a voice. I can't... is it my own?

 

**Funalis**

Sunlight. Rain on my face. Grass, damp with morning dew, beneath my feet. Sweat. Karl's beard tickling me. His cock in my mouth. A freshly washed robe. Girls giggling. Mr Wiggums, rubbing my legs, begging for a snack. Books. Letters, forming words, forming sentences, forming poetry. Sugar. Salt. Semen. A glass of rich red wine, glistening in the candle light. Lips. Legs. Locks. Silk. Golden earrings. A snowflake melting on my tongue. Feathers. Cherry blossoms. Birds chirping. Floorboards creaking. A lullaby. A soft, white pillow, embroidered with delicate initials. A hand stroking my hair.

 

**Satinalia**

…

 

**day 364**

Maker... please let me die... _pleasepleaseplease..._


End file.
